


I Once Knew a Girl from Kirkwall

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Contacts to Friends to Lovers, Cunnilingus, Dwarven Carta (Dragon Age), F/M, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Oblivious Varric, Smut, The Bianca Explanation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: Varric is shocked to discover that the Herald is none other than his Carta contact from Kirkwall, Melly Cadash.Melly finds that all she needed to start a new chapter in her life was a chance. But can Varric forgive her past enough to give her a chance for more than just friends?





	1. A Girl Has No Nickname

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumateranlibrarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumateranlibrarian/gifts), [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved the prompt idea that Varric and Cadash knew each other from Kirkwall. I used my own Cadash for this story, and it turned out super angsty, as per usual. :)

The Seeker burst past the crumpled wall with the prisoner just as he and the apostate elf were doing all the hard work. Figured she’d show up then. Varric hefted Bianca up a little higher; the resulting bolt split the demon crowding Solas in half.

“Quickly, before more come through!” Solas yelled, grabbing the prisoner’s hand. It sparked, connecting with the slit in the damn sky, and to Varric’s surprise, closed the thing in a snap. The shockwave sent the prisoner’s hood flying back, hair the color of nearly-ripe mulberries revealed.

He knew this dwarf. Without even looking at her face.

Solas went on and on about magic and the fade, and Varric had to interrupt.

“Good to know. And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”

Melly Cadash spun slowly, inching on sovereign, recognizing his voice. Her green eyes were wide with shock, and boy, he knew that feeling as well. Last thing he expected was their savior to be one of his Carta contacts. Past the initial surprise, Melly didn’t reveal a thing though, which, good for her. Varric was forced to do the song and dance -- rogue, storyteller, yada yada -- all the shit he told people he didn’t know well at all. A slight smirk crossed her lips; dark, stained lips, as rich and luscious as her hair.

“Nice to meet you Varric Tethras,” she said. “I’ll be glad for that crossbow of yours.”

They didn’t have a chance to speak alone until Haven, after Melly closed the breach in the middle of the destroyed temple and everyone started calling her Herald. She didn’t seem to love that nickname; she’d always been sore that he’d never given her one, but Melly was... you didn’t make light of what Melly Cadash was inside.

She sought Varric out. Pulled him from a game of cards inside the Singing Maiden. Her hand wrapped around his upper arm and she batted her eyes and bent over the current battle of Wicked Grace.

“Oh, this game,” she said, a bit sweet. “I’m sorry lads, but can you spare Varric for me? I’ve just woken up and I really do need to talk to him. I was so tired after being held prisoner and sealing the rift that I just hadn’t the chance to really properly meet the only other surfacer here.”

The three other humans around the table all nodded dumbly, mouths agape at the pretty little dwarf. A wide tattoo of dark blue crossed her face like a blindfold, only making her eyes shine brighter. “Anything, of course, Herald,” a young, dark-haired kid said. He stood up too, as if the Herald was anything more than a Carta thief who knew Kirkwall’s back alleys better than the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, with absolute warmth. “What’s your name?”

“Delrin, miss. Lady Herald, that is.”

She smiled and touched his shoulder. “I’ll not be forgetting that name. Thank you, Delrin. And all of you, I promise he’ll be back!”

Melly dug in, nearly dragging Varric from the table, making some noise about “adjusting as a dwarf in this cold.” Outside though, past the wooden spiked fence and near the trebuchets, the authentic Melly reappeared.

“Maker’s nutsack, these people will worship anything.” She released Varric, patting his sleeve, showing there was no harm done. “I’m guessing you already know -- made me for Carta as soon as I set foot in that temple. I’m impressed with your spymaster. I always said that job was wasted on men.”

Varric raised his hands. “She’s not my anything. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Why you here then? Varric Tethras is the unnamed king of Kirkwall. Anyone who knows anyone knows that.” She tapped her foot in the snow, crossing her arms across her chest.

“The Seeker -- one with the pointy sword and face full of disdain? She dragged my ass over here.”

“Well, I haven’t made you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He laughed. “I’m not wondering anything, Melly. You dragged me out of a perfectly profitable game of Wicked Grace. Those kids were waiting to empty their pockets.”

“Yes, and you’d spin your yarn and all the little tavern wenches would sing you softly to sleep as they twirled your chest hair. I get it.” Melly rolled her eyes like she was only partly committed to character, looking askance to the mountain side. “I’m not supposed to be here. We’re not supposed to be here. Surfacers shouldn’t get involved in human shit like this.”

“I’d say that hole up there is cracking open the same sky for everyone, human or not.”

“You believe in this,” she accused, pacing forward to poke Varric in the revealed, and slightly cold, chest. “You -- cynical take-no-sides Varric Tethras _believe_ in this Inquisition!”

Something about the accusation didn’t sit right with him. As if this Carta thug had any business judging him for being a decent person for once.

“Look, that shit’s not normal. If you wanna call it belief or duty or just plain old idiocy, fine. Whatever gets you through the day, Melly. All I know is you have a job to do and I’m going to make sure you don’t fuck it up for all of us.”

Her face cracked like a nut underneath a templar heel, completely crumbled to bits. Melly started crying, covering her eyes with her palms, leaning back against the trebuchet for support. She’d spun so many different characters over the years he wasn’t sure now which one this was. The anchor in her palm sparked, masking her entire face in green light, and she pulled it back, horrified. She shook it, as if that was the key to turning the damn thing off.

“I’m really not supposed to be here,” she repeated, sagging to the ground, knees to her chest. Melly looked at her palm and chewed her lip damn near off. “A few of my friends -- they died. I should be dead too. Everyone else died. Holy people, shitty people too I’m sure, but all that survived was a fuck-up Carta thug. Do you know how messed up that is? Spin that, master storyteller.”

Varric wavered uncertainly. Was this a ploy of some sort? Or maybe he had been a bit of an ass to call her out. She stopped crying at least, instead wiped her face with the normal hand and held the marked one as far away as possible.

“We’re not even supposed to be able to do magic, Varric. How am I not dead?” She choked a little and shook her head.

He knelt in the snow, taking her turned up palm and closed it. The mark sizzled to a stop. “This is pretty messed up,” he agreed. “And I can’t even think of a good enough story for you right now to explain the whys, but forget what I said. I’m not here just to make sure you don’t fuck up. I kinda do believe -- in all of this. The point of this.” Melly looked up with deep, trusting eyes, like she was hanging on every word, despite how much she acted like nothing he said mattered before. “Just keep showing up. That’s all you can do. Sometimes the least likely people make the best heroes.”

Melly nodded, taking back her hand and cradling it like a broken bird. “It’s not a book, Varric,” she sniffed. “And don’t tell anyone I cried,” she said, normal again.

Or at least, as normal as Varric had ever known her. He didn’t give people nicknames until he knew them, really understood what they were about. He didn’t mind to brag, but usually it didn’t take long for Varric to see the truth in people. Despite being an acquaintance of Melly Cadash’s for nearly ten years though, Varric hardly knew her at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on Varric, some of your nicknames are pretty shit -- Tiny, Kid, Chuckles? Are you even trying?


	2. What She Did in the Shadows

Varric Tethras could be rather charming. Killing demons, winning hands of Wicked Grace, schmoozing the skirts off tavern wenches. Melly watched him with interest after the shock of being Herald, now Inquisitor, wore off. It took her weeks to remember she was waking up not in a jail cell, like that first time, but in her own bed in the middle of a human camp. No one was trying to kill her, at least no mere mortal. There was still Corypheus. 

Haven stung. She knew spring traps, she knew how to catch the enemy in their beds. How she didn’t see that coming... Melly paced the battlements, knowing she had to meet Varric’s contact, which was definitely the famed Champion of Kirkwall. If Hawke had some insight on Corypheus, then Melly would gladly take it. The fact of the matter was that Melly once had tried to off the Champion of Kirkwall and that’s how she first met Varric. 

It had been so many years ago that the details were kind of fuzzy. So many people had wanted Hawke dead and Melly couldn’t recall how the money came into the Carta’s hands. She’d been assigned, and that should have been the end of it, if she was truly a good Carta member. But Melly had stuck the Carta fool on her team that came close to killing Hawke with an arrow through his skull. Hawke never saw her, never came close to catching Melly in the shadows, but after seeing Hawke fight, Melly couldn’t in good conscious let a woman like that fall. 

Varric Tethras had tracked her down though. He’d been there as well that night, a little more quick-eyed then his companion apparently, and had inquired in the right channels for a green-eyed dwarf with a mask tattoo. He’d found her, in a city full of run-aways and nobody's, and made a deal that no deal for Hawke’s life left the table without his counter-offer first. 

Present-day Varric was still as slow to trust as past Varric. She watched him from her perch, chatting with Hawke, laughing as old friends do. Melly didn’t have a lot of old friends. Most died in the blast, the rest -- well the Inquisitor couldn’t really spend time with Carta members any longer. Varric was the closest she had to a  _ friend _ , but he hardly paid her any attention. A sympathetic look once in awhile from the fireplace, sure. But as hard as she pretended to be at times, Melly needed someone to confide in. 

As it was, the day wasn’t getting any younger and Corypheus was still out there. She slipped off her ledge and walked through the nearby tower in order to meet them a bit below. Melly pasted on a kind smile, all the while nervous that Varric had told his very best friend how he’d met the Inquisitor many times before. 

Melly walked down the steps, interrupting the pair. Varric smiled brightly, still plum tickled to be with Hawke after all their time apart. 

“Inquisitor,” he said. “Meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.” His eyes revealed the truth though, staring at her, pinning her to the spot. 

“I don’t use that title much anymore,” Hawke admitted. 

“I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus,” Varric said. “You and I did fight him after all.”

He walked away, leaving Melly alone with Hawke. She was as cunning and stunning as Melly remembered, wearing her full regalia in the middle of Skyhold, knives at her back, a bit of kaddis across her nose for measure. 

“I’ve heard a little about you,” Melly said. “I grew up in Kirkwall.”

Hawke smiled against the half wall, showing her pearly straight teeth. “Oh, you know Varric then? From before?”

“Because all dwarves know each other?” 

Hawke laughed. “No because Varric would know any dwarf in Kirkwall half as pretty as you.” She flung out a hand. “Come on, I didn’t mean anything by it. He’s a sucker for a good romance though. He’s even writing a romance serial now,  _ Swords and Shields _ .”

Melly took her hand and shook on it. “I haven’t had the chance to read that one,” she said. “But trust me, I’m not foolish enough to fall for that kind of man. Screams “commitment-phobe” a mile away. All that chest hair, he’s a walking advert for quick and dirty.”

“Rogues,” Hawke said, swirling a dagger out of thin air. “Sometimes they sneak up from behind when you least expect it.” Her eyes flashed and then Melly knew that Varric had outed her to the Champion of Kirkwall. Damn. 

“You know,” Melly said. She stepped out of reach and Hawke slipped her blade back. 

“Of course. I’m not mad, I should thank you. Since you were more willing to stab the Carta in the back than me, I probably owe you my life over many times. More than that alley ambush.”

“Right, well you were better than the rest of us.” Melly stuck her hands in her pockets, shifting to her heels. “I could hardly let a slimy bastard like Tweeter take you out. It wouldn’t of been right.”

Hawke fell back against the half-wall, resting on her elbows. A cold breeze rustled over the battlements and blew her hair out of her face. She closed her eyes to it and smiled. Melly thought she was crazy until she remembered that Hawke was from Ferelden. Woman probably missed the cold more than armpit-soaked Kirkwall. 

“I never asked who you were,” she said, eyes still closed. “But Varric was all too quick to let me in once introductions were to be made.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Melly said. 

“He didn’t want me to reveal my hand to you, but eh, I can't always listen to him. It'll be bad for my reputation if everyone thinks he was the real puppet master. However,” her eyes snapped open, “he did go on about your virtues more than I thought necessary if he was just trying to show you had some sliver of good in you. I think maybe Bianca has a run for her money.”

Melly groaned. That damn crossbow. “I told you, I’m not a fool. Varric is...”

“Charming, sincere when you need him to be, very good looking, a bit of a braggart, loyal, honorable...” Hawke rolled her hand. “Need I go on? I’m his best friend. I know when he’s interested in reading someone, and you are just a very tough one to crack. It’s driving him crazy. Good on you, he deserves it.”

Melly wanted to squash the topic. Varric was charming, he was all the things Hawke listed and more, but Melly always knew that. A man didn’t make a deal with the Carta to save his best friend’s hide over and over again unless he had worth. She’d always admired him, even when she was nothing but a thug in the shadows and he a surfacer that had done something better with his life than the Carta. Melly examined a hand like she was tired of the topic and sighed. 

“Let’s talk about Corypheus,” Melly said. “I know you Ferelden ladies like the cold, but I’m from Kirkwall and this is far more breezy than I’d care for.”

“Oh, twist my arm,” Hawke teased. “Besides, you already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarcastic Hawke is my jam!


	3. Melly Makes a Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

The Fade was fucking awful. The demon kept saying shit that Varric already knew well enough, that wasn’t the problem. Being in a sometimes upside-down, demon-infested wet cesspool was the problem. Everything smelled like burnt milk, the sopping puddles of whatever that shit was came up past his knees. Melly panicked like he’d never seen her before, stopping once to lean on her longbow and mutter, “the fade, fuck!”

The fear demon spoke again, a shitty, cheap imitation of the Kid.  What he did say though made Melly’s face go completely pale. 

“The Inquisitor. What version do they know? Or have even you lost count at this point? One day you’ll get what you deserve. What made you think you could sit on a throne of your own making?”

Everyone else had laughed the demon off -- clearly surface level stuff they already knew about themselves. But Melly bit her lip and frowned. She said nothing but carried on, hating the thigh-high swampy bits as much as he did. She held her bow above her head and waded, ready to be out of the place. 

Of course they were a bunch of damn heroes, led on by a version of Divine Justina that turned into a naked lady spirit. That too was unsettling. Demons and spirits shouldn’t wear people suits. The fear demon fell just as they knew it would, hardly immune to bolts and swords. Varric couldn’t run out of there fast enough, not realizing at first that Hawke, Stroud and Melly were blocked by the giant fleshy spider. 

They waited beyond the opening of the fade, and then Hawke and Melly popped out as it sealed shut. Stroud was locked in that heap forever, and Melly flared her mark to kill the rest of the demons surrounding them in the Adamant courtyard. Hawke started talking, like usual, and everyone listened. As usual. 

“She was right. Without the nightmare to control them, the mages are free and Corypheus loses his demon army. Though as far as they’re all concerned, the Inquisitor here broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.”

Melly stretched the fingers of her marked hand. “I shouldn’t -- we need to tell the truth.”

“Oh, don’t worry about a little exaggerated storytelling,” Hawke said. “Let them have their story, we won’t let your head get too big.” 

Melly nodded and explained to the remaining Wardens what happened to Stroud, and recruited them to serve the Inquisition. Next to him, the Seeker grunted her disapproval.

“Ah, come off it, Seeker.” Varric said. “Give her a chance.”

“I’ll inform the Wardens at Weisshaupt what’s happened,” Hawke added. “They could use a little help, seems.” Varric sighed, used to Hawke being too honorable for her own good. “Good luck with your Inquisition. Try not to forget what I said before about that list of virtues.” She shook Melly’s hand, gave Varric a mischievous look, and took off with the remaining Wardens. 

“Say hello to Sunshine for me,” Varric called. Hawke turned her head and winked, blowing Varric a kiss. 

“I will. Don’t you worry about me.”

“I always do,” he said under his breath. At least most of them made it out of the fade. Stroud was gone, and without him Sunshine wouldn’t of been breathing, having helped her in the Deep Roads all those years ago. Varric didn’t know the man well, and he would of traded him to a demon instead of Hawke and Melly any day, but still. An honorable dead man was no way to end this. 

“Can we get out of here, Inquisitor? Too many dead mages, it's starting to remind me of Kirkwall and not in a good way.”

Melly nodded, climbing down from her little ledge. She withdrew into herself after her burst of Inquisitorial duty, and flagged Cassandra. 

“Can you find Cullen? Let him know we should try for Griffon Wing Keep? I’m not sleeping here tonight.”

“Of course,” Cassandra said, holding her chin even. “Inquisitor, I may not approve--” she stopped herself, course correcting after Varric gave a firm shake of the head. “You were very brave today. I commend you for leading us through the Fade. Most Holy would have been proud, even if that was not her. I know she would be pleased that you lead us.”

“Thank you, Cassandra.” Melly looked up from her feet. “I-- thank you.” 

Cassandra jogged on, relentless as always, calling for Cullen. Melly sagged next to Varric, and he wrapped an arm around her. Everyone else had marched ahead, and walking like a pair of corpses, they trudged out of Adamant. 

Varric usually hated Griffon Wing Keep, but as he sank into a warm tub after making the trek across the sands, he thanked Andraste’s perky tits for modern conveniences. He’d been alone for an hour by now, thinking of Hawke traipsing away like a hero, but mostly Melly’s defeated frown in the fade. The fear demon insinuated she was a fake, that was clear, but why did that bother Melly so much? She’d always been half in the Carta, half in his pocket. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that life wasn’t always fair and sometimes following your family got you stuck in the worst places. Being born into a Carta family was tough, but look at her now, an Inquisitor. He humphed to himself, surprised at how well she was doing at the job, then surprised he was surprised at all. Melly always had a sliver of hero-making in her. 

A knock on his door shattered his contemplation. “I’m barely decent,” he yelled, thinking he might scare a pesky Cassandra away.

The door popped open and Melly shut it with a foot. She knelt in front of his copper tub, barely dressed and maybe half mad, a wild look in her eyes. “Varric -- am I?” She gritted her teeth. “Am I a good person?”

“What?” He sat up further in the tub, aware that everything was for show. Where had that come from?

“When I first joined, you said you were watching me, and I keep seeing you watch me. I figure you have a better measure on me than anyone. Void take it, you’ve even seen me in the shadows. I’ll ask you again, am I a good person? Would you... would you say that about me?”

He shifted uneasily. “Well, yeah, as good as any other.”

That didn’t seem to do it for her. Melly just bobbed her chin, said “right” all quiet-like and made for the door. He reached out and grabbed her hand before she could escape, and pulled her back. “Why are you asking me?”

Melly looked down at him; she pierced his heart with her tear-filled eyes. It was as if Bianca had backfired, impaling his chest with her bolt instead of the other guy. Ah, shit. He swallowed hard, dislodging the anxiety building up and keeping him from sounding like his usual self. 

“Never mind, Varric. I just -- never mind.” She tried to pull away, but Varric was much stronger than her. He wouldn’t let her pace off into the night, believing he was the worst kind of person. Maybe he should have, but something about Melly always made him think twice. 

“I didn’t tell you to go, did I?” She tipped her head back, and closed her eyes, reddish purple locks falling past her shoulders. She stopped wrenching her wrist though and sank bank to the floor. Her fingers dipped into the water. 

“I’m already embarrassed enough, Varric. Don’t keep me here to wind a tale about tragic heroes or coming up out of nowhere to be someone. I know what you heard in the Fade as well as I did.”

“I don’t know where you got the idea I’d do that,” he said, pulling her closer, shifting his hand on her so that it wasn’t a tug, but a reassurance. 

She snorted, looking at him again. That was an improvement. “Today was a Maker-forsaken awful day though and I hoped you’d let me in. I just want to be  _ me _ me. Not someone they think I am, a story they can tell about this surfacer who was kissed on the feet by Andraste, who shits miracles and closes rifts with a wrinkle of her cute little dwarfy nose.”

“It is a cute nose, though,” he added. She laughed, and it made his chest brighten. “I’m just suggesting -- that’s not part of the elaboration. I’d know, I’m great at making shit up.”

“Right,” she said, sighing, shifting, taking his hand in an entirely different way, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t really think you want me, Varric. I know, I do. But can that not matter for right now? I just need to not be alone. I don’t think that would be good for me.”

It was a bad idea. A really shitty idea, but she was beautiful and asking him, and he could kinda understand where she was coming from. She wanted honesty, and there was nothing more honest than what she was proposing. Soul-scorching, naked as the day your mother had you, complete honesty. Varric didn’t usually turn people down, not when there wasn’t anything technically holding him back, but a little voice in the back of his mind always said,  _ what about her? _

Damnit, she wasn’t there. 

Varric shook his head and pulled Melly into the tub, clothes and all, though she was only wearing a tunic. She shrieked a little, surprised. Then laughed a rich, soulful laugh that made him feel much better about his decision. She cupped his face and kissed him, an earnest one first, showing just how much she wanted him in particular, then dragged his bottom lip with her teeth. Her wet shirt betrayed her, clinging to her figure, revealing breasts that made him want to nuzzle or weep, he couldn’t decide. Melly straddled him, knees on the sides of his hips, and pressed down, perfectly down. His hands scrambled over her back, on her hips, grabbed her ass, pulled her even closer. A breathy, stuttered gasp fell out of plump lips like a desperate prayer when he did that, and she rocked against him. 

“You know,” he said. “As much as we both love being chest deep in water...” Varric scooped her up and stepped out of the tub, soaking wet Inquisitor smiling down at him. Ancestors, she was a beautiful woman, well built curves, soft skin, blushing for the first time since he’d known her. He dumped her on his bed, and she peeled off her sopping tunic, tossing it to the floor. A neat triangle of nearly-ripe mulberry colored hair hid the only remaining place for him to discover.

“Ah, shit,” Varric breathed. “Are you sure we made it out of the Fade? You’re like something I’ve made up.” 

“That’s terrible,” she said, laughing, moving back on her elbows to rest on his pillows. “You don’t even dream! Besides you don't need a pick-up line, I’m already in your bed.” 

“Andraste’s bouncing tits, don’t I know it.”

Varric leaned down, kissing her perfect mouth. Melly sighed, relaxing her legs, inviting him in. He found room on the bed in the best possible place, on top of her. 

He wanted to make her feel better, to forget the terrible day and fall asleep a bit more grounded. Varric kissed down her neck, between her full breasts, over her soft belly, down to her thighs. He flattened her wrists on the bed, feeling the rioting pulse beneath his fingertips. 

“Oh,” was all she could muster. Varric released a wrist, parting her softness instead. She sank the free hand into his hair and arched her back, leveling his face right with her cunt. 

He was already past the point of no return, she was just too utterly tempting not to taste. He leaned in, reveling in the sweetness, dropping her other wrist and spreading her wider. He could fill himself on her; Melly was more than enough. Panting and moaning she begged and pleaded for him. 

“Right there, oh Maker fuck, please Varric, please!” 

Well if that wasn’t all the encouragement he needed to do a bang-up job. Melly unraveled beneath him, coming in a note-worthy way, giggling at the end exactly like someone else. He peeked up, not entirely convinced he wasn't in the fade still and just pleasured a desire demon. It was her though, chest rising and falling, eyes closed, hand over her beating heart. He shook the moment off, reminding himself of the here and now, and traveled back up to her lips. 

“I suppose you deserve a kiss for that,” she sighed, tracing his shoulders. She dragged fingers across his chin too, pulling him down to taste herself on his mouth. Afterwards, she asked nearly shyly, “is it too much to ask if we...” 

“You really don't have to keep that up, Melly. You're not exactly holding me here against my will.” He pushed against her fully, his want very obvious.

“Okay,” she smiled. “That was very good though,” she admitted. “You may live up to your reputation yet.”

“Well then,” Varric said. He spread her legs apart further, hoisting one in the crook of an elbow, and rocked inside of her. Melly threw her head back and groaned. “A rogue’s reputation is very important, you know.” 

“Mmm, I was hoping that was the case.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my hcs for Varric is that he loves going downtown. LIVES for it.


	4. A Crossbow By Any Other Name (would shoot just as neat)

She was so, so stupid. Of course she couldn't have sex with someone like Varric and get over it. Every night Melly fell asleep, whether in her giant bed or on a camp roll, and repeated the same scene in her head until dreamless sleep claimed her. He'd been attentive, real and warm and entirely too good at making her come. In the moment, that evening after Adamant, it made perfect sense. But as soon as the light of day hit her she realized the error in judgement. Varric was someone you loved, not someone you fucked. And she loved him quite desperately. He probably left broken hearts all over Kirkwall.

Weeks passed without any betrayal of their previous routine, in that there was no routine at all. Sometimes he joined with on missions, sometimes he wrote by the fire and didn't even notice her walk by, and sometimes he'd offer her a cheap joke to pass the time. Melly craved and hated all of it. She wanted that moment back, when they were honest with one another, and she was fully real to him, not just a story he could tell later. 

Soon another surfacer appeared by the fire. A hooded woman named Bianca that froze Melly’s blood stiff when introduced. She knew, just as she’d known with Hawke, that Varric’s little secret was revealed. He named his fucking crossbow after this woman, who was all smoke and mystery, a sex-me-up voice that had everyone hanging on her every word. It wasn't Bianca's fault of course, Melly wasn't angry at her. She didn't know her. She wasn't angry at Varric either; you love who you love. She only was angry with herself.

She cried for the first time in her entire life over a man, feeling quite the fool, especially when Vivienne caught her.

“I don't know what the tears are for darling, but they're never worth it.”

Melly looked up; Vivienne climbed the stairs in an effort to reach her little loft. Melly was certain she'd be alone halfway in the abandoned hallway, but that was not to be the case. Vivienne knelt before her, still placed above her, yet not as pompous as she could have been. 

“You came to the right place to hide. I'll not say a word. Believe in yourself because you can rely on exactly no one else to do it for you. You understand?”

Melly nodded, miserable. “Thank you for your discretion.”

“You can count on my discretion in all things, dear. It wouldn't do to have anyone think poorly of our Inquisitor would it?” She extended a graceful hand. Melly accepted and rose up, feeling a bit better after Vivienne's odd brand of self-help. 

Vivienne passed as if nothing was the matter, and Melly made her way down the steps to confront Varric and his “contact.”

It turned out Bianca was there with a little tip about the thaig in the Hinterlands. Melly found herself stuck with Varric and Bianca on a trip to Valammar in order to close off Corypheus’ Red Lyrium supply main. She took Cassandra with for a little distraction for Varric, and Vivienne to ensure she remembered herself down there. She was the Inquisitor, and no matter how small she was feeling in comparison to this paragon of womanly attraction, nobody could take away her accomplishments from her now. 

They killed Darkspawn and Carta members aplenty. There was no one she knew, but it still felt odd to sink an arrow straight through the neck of someone who was not too dissimilar to the person she used to be. It bothered her immensely as they worked through the rooms, the odd luck of grabbing an orb as it rolled her way, making her something she never thought she could be: a decent person. She didn't doubt she was doing good now, but did that outweigh all the shit in her past? The fear demon was in her head again, making her doubt herself. Who was she? What version of Melly was even real? Where was her true north? Maybe she didn't even have one as a dwarf; she belonged under rock, where your life had no variables.

Melly bit her lip and frowned as Bianca found the key to lock the place up. Varric stared at her with concern until Bianca spoke again, grabbing his full attention as usual.

“Bianca,” he warned. 

“What?” Melly asked, dazed under her own concerns. 

“Andraste’s ass, you're the leak Bianca!” Varric threw his hands up, more annoyed than she'd ever seen him. Not even in Kirkwall when he’d first paid for her intel. 

Varric and Bianca quibbled for a few more minutes about red lyrium’s properties, Corypheus’ old Grey Warden lackey, and everything that pointed to Bianca’s guilt. 

“I know I screwed up, but we did fix it! It’s as right as I can make it,” Bianca pleaded. 

“This isn’t one of your machines! You can’t just replace a part and make everything right!”

Bianca didn’t miss a beat, snapping on Varric as easily as she’d been sweet to him. Melly felt strangely surreal listening to Bianca, cringing as she considered how similar to this woman she had been. She’d played many a roles in front of Varric before: Carta miscreant, concerned citizen, doting Inquisitor. She'd be sweet if that's what was needed, or play hard if the situation called for it. As they bickered and bickered, the pressure built under Melly’s skin until she couldn’t listen to their lover’s quarrel for fear she’d burst. 

“Would you two just fuck already? Maker’s blighted nutsack, I’m going to lock you both down here so you can get it over with.”

Varric looked back, sheepishly. “Sorry, Inquisitor. We’ve done all we can here. Bianca, you’d better get home before someone misses you.”

Her look of hurt was surely legitimate. “Varric...” she pleaded again.  

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He walked off, leaving Bianca alone with Melly, and the woman had the gall to make threats. “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.”

Melly could have slammed her against the wall, to teach the woman how to make a proper threat. She could have reminded Bianca what a Carta mask stood for, how Melly had earned the right to bear her ink after gutting enough enemies in the dark. But the retreating form of Vivienne inspired Melly to be more, to be an Inquisitor and not a thug.

“Bianca, I  _ appreciate _ we share a mutual concern for Varric. But he’s a grown man and as far as I can tell, you’ve been the one working to ensure he’s hurt.” Melly walked off before Bianca could sputter a retort. At the door she paused, craning her head back. Bianca scowled underneath her hood. Though Melly had turned a completely new leaf, started a new chapter in her life, she couldn’t help but add one last point. 

“And Bianca, I wouldn’t suggest you return to Skyhold. I may care a great deal about Varric’s safety, but I can’t say the same about yours.”

Even though it hurt, meeting Varric’s long-suffering love, no one could take away what she’d become. Melly channeled Vivienne, walking through the halls of Valammar as if she was twenty feet tall; a titan among men. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for Vivienne! Boos for Bianca. Boooooo.


	5. Part of Your Worldstate

Varric packed his trunk. It was filled with shit that probably seemed meaningless to everyone else, but it all had value. Letters from so long ago you could hardly read them, a dried daisy chain, Sunshine’s lost scarf that was found years later in The Hanged Man, a terribly written note from Broody once he learned to write, coins from halfway around the world, a seal Hawke left with Varric to correspond on her behalf. He paused over the lot, contemplating what he could possibly bring from Skyhold to remind him of what had happened here. Most of it was too unreal to contemplate, even though he’d lived it. Maybe there was a missive he’d received, or a link from the chains Cassandra always threatened him with. A breeze rolled in through his open door, and Varric left his treasures in order to slam it shut. At the edge of the garden stood Melly, feet planted halfway between the moss and stone, as if she couldn’t make up her mind. 

Varric caught her eye and she hesitated to speak, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. The breeze picked up again and they both shivered visibly. Melly laughed. “I miss Kirkwall heat, don’t you?”

“And the smell of damp armpit and stale ale. Wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Varric said through the doorframe. She smiled weakly at that and stepped onto stone, asking to come in without words. “Get inside,” he said.

Melly scurried the rest of the way, rubbing her arms, teeth chattering. She crossed him and he shut the door tightly, back against it as Melly examined his room. She’d never been in it before. 

“You’re really leaving today,” she said, taking in the trunk, Bianca laying on his desk, the winter coat on the edge of his bed. 

“The fight’s over,” he said. “You stopped the mad god, we celebrated like heroes, and now someone’s got to start writing your tale.” 

“Be kind with the backstory,” she said, looking at the wall instead of him. 

Ever since Bianca, she’d not been able to look at him straight on for too long. Varric watched Melly’s profile enough in the last few weeks that he could trace the shape of it in his sleep. A slightly sloped forehead, cute button nose, plump limps and a proud chin. Melly didn’t have much to say lately either, but that didn’t stop her from being near him, keeping him closeby for all their encounters, relying on his crossbow to serve her. He’d never felt odd calling the weapon Bianca before, but now he could sense a flinch in Melly every time he boasted her praises in a fight. Or maybe it was his overactive imagination trying to guilt trip him. 

“Well,” Melly said, breaking the awkward fucking silence. She turned to look at Varric, smile wide and eyes bright. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for the Inquisition. And for me, Varric. Take care of Kirkwall, will you? Find another Carta fool to keep it even out there?”

“You don’t plan on coming back.”

“The fight may be over, but it seems the world still needs the Inquisition. There’s something brewing in the Frostback Basin, and even Orzammar has deigned to ask a surfacer for support.” Melly raised her brows at that. 

“You’ll do great, Melly,” he assured. She nodded as if she knew it already, and who was he kidding, of course she knew her own fucking worth. Like she needed him to tell her anything; she’d never let him wind his stories around her before. 

Melly offered a hand, fingertips callused in the right spots, warm and small enough to fit within his completely. They shook on their partnership, their relationship over the last year, and everything it had ever been. Melly hovered at the door, waiting to be let free. He stepped back and opened it for her, bite of the mountain air nipping at his skin again. 

“Well then, Varric, I better let you go,” she whispered. 

As she walked away, across the courtyard and into the bitter air, Varric shook his head. He watched until she went through the other passage into the main hall, even then standing still as the hairs on his chest stood up and shivers ran down his arms, his spine. She wasn’t letting him go to pack; she was letting him go completely.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> Dear Varric, 
> 
> Everything sucks and you're not here. As you might say, we’re “ass-deep” in Darkspawn without chance of seeing the light any time soon. I have no idea why I ever let Josie talk me into this shit. Surfacers shouldn’t go back. The noble pricks down here are right; we Do Not Belong. I’ll take the sun over dripping caverns and nasty spiders any day. So many nugs too. You would not believe what I found earlier this week either -- I’m not even going to write it, you’ll think I’ve gone completely out of my mind. 
> 
> I’m sure you’ll be  **very smug** reading this, sitting in your self-acclaimed palace, reading by the fire, some saucy wench bringing you another ale.  I’m so jealous I could spit, but that’s not dignified even in these swampy bowels of the void. 
> 
> I’m not feeling good about my chances down here. I hate these tunnels, the rot, the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that somehow being here is supposed to mean “more” for some asinine reason. We’re surfacers. We headed towards the sun a long time ago and I for one am not sorry we never looked back.  You would have hated it just as much, if not more, but given the chance I would have dragged you with anyway. And not just for Bianca. I need you. 
> 
> There’s a lot I’ve never said. Out loud to myself even. I keep it in that mind vault very tight, kind of like you do, I think. I mean, ten years of knowing each other and I’d never even gotten a hint that Bianca wasn’t just a damn nickname for a Crossbow... You have always been better at picking apart the threads though, so I’m sure it's not a surprise that I’m writing any of this. I really cared for you. And that one time after Adamant, it wasn’t a mistake. I know you think it was, and that you probably are wishing right about now you’d never done it, but I’m glad. I think about it a lot down here, and even though your heart is for someone else, I got to be a little part of the tale of the unnamed king of Kirkwall. It's easy to fall for you, but impossible to get out of. You just have this way about you that makes everyone want to earn your good opinion. And even though you didn't feel the same about me, I really hope you can find happiness because you deserve more than what you’re giving yourself now. 
> 
> And I know this is morbid as fuck, but if I die down here, I want you to forget what I said before. Tell my whole damn story, not just the nice parts where I become an ally to Varric Tethras, save the world with my cute button nose and shit miracles. 
> 
> Yours, 
> 
> Malika Cadash
> 
> _It deserved more than being lost in the dark forever._
> 
> _\--Cole_

 

 

  
Two observations hit him as he put down the crumpled paper: he owed the Kid a lot for picking up her discarded note and carrying it all the way back the surface, and Varric had been foolishly wrong. He’d thought she was beyond nicknames when Melly wasn’t even her fucking given name to begin with. He sat back in his chair and considered what everyone else called her... Herald, Inquisitor, Your Grace, Lady Cadash... He was the only one that ever called her Melly. And he thought she’d been so hard to read once, like a great fucking puzzle to be solved when the biggest piece was in front of him the whole time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope the titles are working -- can you guess what inspired this one?


	6. It's Free Real Estate

Orlais smelled so much better than the deep roads. Melly unbolted her window and leaned out to admire the gardens of Halamshiral. There were fountains and brick-lined passages to small cafes and shops, flowers bursting to life, and so many familiar faces she hadn’t seen in a long time. The Inquisition was there to answer a summons, to face a council of snooty dignitaries who couldn’t quite sit comfortably with the amount of power they’d pulled together in the last three years. Melly could care less about what they thought, pompous and proud; she’d always be the Inquisitor, no matter if their forces dwindled considerably, or faced taxation and regulations until Josie’s head spun. Melly took a deep breath. It would all work out somehow -- it always did. She believed in the Inquisition, and it her.

A familiar face took her breath away. Varric appeared out of thin air, walking next to a dark-haired human man near the central fountain. They could have been bickering; she couldn’t hear. The sight of him though, healthy and robust, hands flying in emphasis, stupid grin like he was winning the fight, it all spoke to her as clearly as before. Years hadn’t lessened her feelings for Varric. Hindsight had wisened them though and she retreated into the safety of her room without alerting him to her presence. Clearly he knew she was in the palace somewhere. Melly hadn’t expected him though. She’d heard he’d become Viscount of Kirkwall, unofficial king no longer. What was he doing here?

The answer came in an hour. Walking the halls to find her advisors, someone pulled her into the shadows. Melly whipped her arm back and shot the upturned heel of her hand towards the direction of the assailant’s face.

“Maferath’s balls, Melly,” Varric grumbled, catching her wrist perilously close to his nose.

“I haven’t forgotten how to defend myself,” she said, snatching her extremities back.

Varric grumbled as her eyes adjusted to the dark. He stepped away and pushed at a sconce, and a section of the wall split open, paper so finely laid that the pattern of the print broke exactly where the hidden door started. Revealed behind this mysterious entrance was a opulent room filled with a gigantic poster bed, plush velvet drapes, paintings of lovers lounging and feeding each other grapes or playing musical instruments in fields of glorious carnage. Orlesians were fucking odd.

“You do the decorating yourself?”

Varric laughed, pulling her by a hand again. “I know it’s a bit strange, but private. I figured you deserved that.”

 _For what_ , she wanted to ask. What was he intending with the secrecy, the privacy. Everyone else had talked to her in the gardens. When she’d passed where Varric had been standing a few minutes ago, it was empty. It had been years since she last saw him, talked to him. What could he possibly have to say to her now that couldn’t have been said in a letter or out on the cobbled walkways?

Varric leaned against the edge of one the bed’s four large posts. He folded his hands across his belt, and cocked his head just slightly. “I wanted to give you a sort of present before the council started. It’s official recognition of your title and holdings in Kirkwall. Congratulations, you’re a Comtesse now!”

Melly stared blankly at him for a moment, compiling what he’d just said. A bit of fire started in her belly, spreading to her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly, speechless.

“Why am I getting the sense you don’t like it?”

She eyed him warily. “What’s all this for Varric? The privacy, the over-the-top gift. I can’t tell if you’re serious here.”

“What?” He raised his hands. “I’m always completely serious.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you want.”

“I’m giving you a gift.”

“For what?” she snapped. “A gift for what? What do I need a title in Kirkwall for? I haven’t been there in years, there’s nothing for me there any more. In Kirkwall I was gutter trash, here and in the rest of Thedas, I mean something. Why would I ever want to go back and sit in a house in Hightown, members of my shitty family running the streets as they always have?”

Varric launched off the bedpost and grabbed her shoulders. “There’s really nothing in Kirkwall you’d ever want to go back for?” She frowned, attempting to shimmy out of his grip. “No one you care about?”

Melly slapped at his hands. “Not if he’s still hung up over his mistress! Not if his idea of wooing me is doing it somewhere no one will find out because he’s trying to be secretive! Not if he thinks he needs to “save” my past by buying me some real estate to make up for the fact that I bled for that city, killed for that city!”

Her chest heaved and she glared at Varric. For his part he didn’t waver, just rubbed down her arms. “Sit down, Melly.”

“No.” She crossed her arms, planting her feet.

“I have a story to tell you.” She laughed at that, a harsh, sharp thing that made Varric’s eyes sadden. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “I need to tell you about Bianca.”

Even though she really didn’t want to hear about Bianca, it was the one thing Varric never offered to talk about before. Not after his lover came to Skyhold, not after she found out Bianca was already married, not ever. Melly found herself shaking her head ‘yes,’ in letting him weedle her to the edge of the bed. He leaned against a post again, arms crossed against his chest.

“I’ve never told anyone this particular story before,” he said. “Not even Hawke. She knows -- pieces maybe, but that’s just what she’s picked up by sticking her nose in everything. You know by now Bianca’s married, I’m sure our Spymaster filled you in on that.” Melly nodded. “That’s only because the Merchant’s Guild forced us to separate.” Her eyes widened at that. “Before the Inquisition I’d coined myself a professional second son -- did just enough to keep things churning in my favor, but never so much that I’d have to take the fall. Back when I was young though -- I was a bit more eager. I had a reputable seat on the Guild thanks to my brother, and Carta contacts to fill my pockets, but that wasn’t enough. I wanted more and there was an opportunity to make coin and all I had to do was find someone who knew machines. Enter Bianca. She was coming up with new inventions for shit I’d never even knew I needed before. We met and you know the rest of that tale. We fell in love, that first love that grabs you and tells you to do whatever you can not to lose it. That sticks in your guts for the rest of your life. Her family were, and still are, a bunch of noble pricks. Tethras wasn’t good enough for their progeny. But we had this prototype -- a weapon that could make grown men cry she was so beautiful. So we thought we’d sell it, maybe get out of Kirkwall, run away together. The Merchant Guild wasn’t going to touch anything we did together, so we went to the Carta.

“You probably remember it as a kid, your dad, your older brothers coming back late, but not blood stained. The Carta wasn’t as powerful top-side back then, but I was an idiot thinking I alone had Carta contacts. And so as it goes, we picked the wrong Carta members to try and bypass the Guild. They got wind and it was a shit storm in Kirkwall for a while; Bianca’s family forced her to marry a Vasca. We were told we could never see each other again, yadda yadda, threats to my manhood, etc.”

Varric paused in his tale and Melly took the opportunity to speak, her insides tying into tighter and tighter knots as Varric kept talking. “It’s a very tragic love story, Varric, but I still don’t understand what it has to do with me.”

“You don’t see yourself in the ending then?” Varric asked.

“You’ve told me how much you will always love Bianca, but I--”

“When something like that happens to you, it's easy to spend the rest of your life thinking you were wronged. You’re owed something. I told you it's a love that sticks in your guts. That’s because it's basically shit that never passes. How could anyone ever possibly top that love story? We’re the tragic, star-crossed lovers. In my mind, Bianca had become more than just a brilliant smith, she was the heroine ripped unjustly from my hands by a villain too big for either of us. We were everything you root for in a good story. I built her up so high, no one could touch her. When she came to Skyhold and then the thaig... it was a small crack in that character. She’s real, and fucks up, and is married and never going to change that.”

“You never cared before,” Melly pointed out. Varric reached across the bed and grabbed her, desperate to get his point across, eyes pleading like she’d never seen.

“I never thought I knew the real you before.”

Her heart was about to burst out of her chest, her throat, any place it possibly could. It shattered the guard she’d placed on herself since Varric left, and she let herself hope that he was saying what she’d wished for since he convinced her she could be the person she'd always wanted to be. She recalled their conversation in Haven, knee-deep in snow, her outstretched palm between them. _Sometimes the least likely people make the best heroes._

“And you do now?”

“I once knew a girl from Kirkwall,” he said, folding into his embrace. Melly went freely.

"Another story, Varric?" She rested her head against his shoulder and he spoke against her hair.

“This one's better, I promise. This girl I knew was trapped in this shitty life she didn’t want, but instead of letting it ruin her, she prevailed. When given the chance to save someone good for her city, she didn’t hesitate. And since then she kept her word, proving she was trustworthy for years. Her contact was a bit of a blighter though -- never noticing that she hid her tender heart quite fiercely. He knew she was loyal to the money, but didn’t realize all the potential she had. It wasn’t until they met halfway across the world that he started to understand she had always tried to protect who she really was from him, from everyone. Then he was given this perfect fucking chance to make it up to her, but his old hangups never stopped haunting him. He was too stupid to see the ending of his own story, sure it was supposed be a tragedy. And so he allowed her to let him go, to walk off without a word about what he meant to her because you don't protect your heart for years and then decide to let someone shred it apart. She never stopped thinking about him, especially not in the darkest of places, where if not the light of compassion had shone in, her thoughts would have been lost to him forever.”

Melly leaned back to look at him. She searched his face, his warm eyes, his widening smile. “Cole found it didn't he?” Varric nodded, thumb crossing her cheek softly, running over her lips. “And then what happened to this girl? And her contact?”

“This is the first day I can ever remember you asking for a story.” He smirked, knowing how badly she wanted him to continue. She pushed at his chest. “Well then he realized he loved her. She'd always been special to him, but a big blind spot had kept him in the dark. She’d tried to show her real self from the very start to him, not the Carta member Malika Cadash, but Melly, a woman of her own making. He knew he had to come to see her then, but offered her lavish gifts like a puffed-up cock instead of confessing how much he loved her straight away.”

A smile split across her face. He loved her. He recognized her for who she wanted to be all along: Melly, not Malika Cadash. She wasn't letting him get away that easily though. He'd put her through too much to not keep him on edge now.

“So that property... Is it close to the Viscount's Keep? What's the grand plan there?”

“You might even call us neighbors. But if that’s too far for you, I did inherit a great bed.”

She laughed. “You do deserve it,” she said.

“And you deserve far more than I can ever give you, but damn if I'm not going to try anyway.”

Varric kissed her, holding her face in his hands, then winding them through her hair. She clutched his sides, ran her fingers under his tunic, absorbed all his warmth and the feel of him. Hot skin, soft lips, rogue tongue. They were reminded of their time together, the honesty it had opened up in her about her feelings for Varric, the shadowed doubts it sprang forth in him.

But this wasn't like their first time. Instead of stirring feelings mixed with fear of loneliness, it felt like hope, swirling in her chest, spilling out of her mouth, mingling between their lips, simmering in the air. It felt like something she very much did deserve, each and every part of her. Even the shadows of her past, and the very reasons she earned her Carta mask. Melly deserved a first love like Varric, but instead of her predecessor, she was going to make it truly last.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed!!


End file.
